Male, 45, Divorced, Seeks Male
by Bea Ryan
Summary: AUs: College / Military / Internet Dating / No Blackout. When Miles' remarriage forces Bass to finally accept that their relationship is over, he agrees to have coffee with a much younger man.


Author's Note: This is the edited version of this story. The explicit version is on AO3.

Friday at seven AM the phone on the bedside table buzzed, notifying Bass that a message had arrived. The text read, "Your wedding was more fun." The photo showed a happy bride, wrapped in a red brocade kimono draped to accentuate her swollen belly, and her husband, towering over her but staring down adoringly with an arm wrapped protectively around her. Miles and his bride had smiled at Charlie as she'd taken the picture. They'd probably smiled for a hundred more the same day. Bass' cheeks had hurt by the time the last guest had left after his own wedding to Miles. It had been 17 months since Miles had left, and this morning Bass finally felt divorced.

Bass had promised to hold down the homefront a year and a half ago when Miles had announced he was going on a long, unaccompanied assignment to Japan. The tensions between China, India and Pakistan threatened to boil over and Miles' Special Operations Command team would probably be needed soon. Basing them temporarily in Japan would shave valuable hours off the trip when they deployed. After 25 years in the Marines, Miles was still ready for the fight.

Fifteen years ago Bass had taken a bullet to the hip on a mission, and, after six surgeries to repair it, he'd been transferred to a desk job. He marked that as the point when their lives had begun to diverge. Bass had already finished his BS when he was injured. He followed it up with a Masters and then a PhD. Miles had never attempted more than a handful of college credits. Bass had retired five years ago, taking a job teaching at the state college near Camp Lejeune while Miles had stayed on active duty. They'd made it work. Bass had made it work.

When Miles asked for most of their liquid assets to cover a house in Japan, Bass had agreed without complaint. They'd had to buy a house in San Diego too. Sometimes it made more sense to own than rent even if you didn't plan on staying long. He hadn't heard from Miles as often as he'd have liked, but the man never was much of a talker.

Two months after he'd left, Miles had sent a list of things he wanted and Charlie had come to visit and help Bass pack the boxes. Bass loved his niece, and she was delighted by the accents in North Carolina. She thought she could do a passable impression of some of them after a few drinks, but her own Chicago squawk came through loud and clear. Her visits gave him an excuse to go to the student bars that dotted his neighborhood, too. She drank like her uncle though and she'd given him his first unignorable indication something was wrong over a game of darts. She'd said, "You sure are taking this well. I'd have cut his balls off if he were mine." Despite the warning, Bass was still blindsided when the divorce papers arrived a week after he'd sent Miles' boxes.

There had been three more phone calls from Miles over the next two months begging, pleading and finally ordering him to sign. Once he had he'd done it, Bass never heard from Miles again. He only knew about the wedding because Charlie had told him. He hadn't known about the baby until he'd seen the picture. He couldn't call their breakup a mid-life crisis or a phase anymore. Miles was gone and he wasn't coming back. The divorce was real.

Bass shoved hard against the mattress and forced himself to sit up. It was seven AM. It was time for him to go for a run. Every morning he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other until the pain worked its way out. He didn't have a class to teach until 10. This was going to be a long run.

The run helped. Coming home didn't. Bass had moved and bought new furniture, the "fussy old stuff" that he liked instead of Miles' Swedish minimalist operating room style, but traces of his life with Miles were everywhere.

Bass ran a hand along the frame of one of the pictures by the front door. They'd practically come to blows in the Artists' Market in Amsterdam as they'd endlessly debated whether to go with a black and white photo print of row houses or a drawing of sunset over the canal. The artist had eventually laughed and offered to do one of the photos as a pastel, creating a matching but different set like the two of them. When he looked at the pictures he remembered everything else about that trip. Belgian beer, the redlight district, the Van Gogh museum. He'd seen it all with Miles. Everything he'd seen, everything he'd done since he was a child, had been with Miles.

Bass grabbed an empty laundry basket and put the pictures in it. Pottery from Jerusalem, Greece, and Poland followed along with a stein from Germany, several pieces of South American silverwork, and nicknacks from around Asia. By the time he was done, there was almost nothing left in the house that he'd owned more than a year. He hauled the overflowing basket out the front door and dropped it into the back of his SUV. Goodwill could have it all.

Friday afternoon, as Bass prepared for the class he'd lead on Saturday, his phone buzzed. He'd put up a dating profile on Cuppa Joe when he'd first heard about Miles' engagement. Bass had traded only a few messages with overly eager men with a soldier fetish before he'd accepted that coffee wasn't on the mind of most of the site's users. He hadn't responded to any messages in months, the hits getting fewer and fewer as his last log-in date grew, but he hadn't turned it off yet. It was a harmless thrill to know that, at least as a disembodied profile, men still found him attractive.

This message read, "I'll be in Wilmington at 7. Coffee?"

Bass stared at his phone, neither deleting nor delving into the message. Bass took a resigned breath and clicked the link to the sender's profile. He didn't know what kind of man's attention would make this day better. Worse, he didn't know where his ache ended and his standards began.

J. was a 22-year-old college student majoring in Criminal Justice. His profile picture was taken from far enough away to hide his face but show off a gym sculpted body. The photo was set on the side of a mountain, snowcaps in the background, barren, rocky soil in the foreground. J. had a bow beside him and a quiver slung across his back as he stood in a contrived, casual pose. He was very much not Miles.

Bass leaned back in his office chair and stared at the ceiling. He sipped from the cup of water on his desk, swirling it as if it was whiskey, and walked to his window, leaning against it to watch the students crossing the campus below in singles, pairs, and groups. Ten minutes later, Bass confirmed the time and sent J. a link to Prima, a coffee shop/bar across campus from his house that his students avoided because of its lack of outlets and WiFi. He didn't need witnesses if his first first date in fifteen years went badly.

Ten minutes before he was supposed to arrive, J. had sent him a message. "Stuck in traffic outside Leland. Going to be late. Wait for me?" Bass had agreed, but now, twenty minutes after the hour, overcaffeinated and slightly drunk, he was ready to call it a night.

"Bass?" The question came as a hand clapped him on the shoulder with a firm squeeze. Bass traced the long line of the arm up to well muscled shoulders, a strong jaw, olive skin, and a player's smile. Bass had been feeling forgiving until he hit the smile. Bass bore into him with a look he'd perfected in the Marines. He didn't bring it out often in the classroom, but when he did the offending smartass, always either a freshman who hadn't yet figured out that this was college instead of high school or a senior who was well and truly out of fucks to give, immediately apologized and shut up. J.'s smile barely flickered.

"J.?" Bass answered.

"Jason. Sorry I'm late. Traffic."

"Maybe your plan wasn't a good one," Bass said. His intensity drew the attention of the couple at the next table. Jason acted as if Bass was smiling too, nodded and sat down beside him.

"This is only my second time in Wilmington. Last time I didn't have any trouble."

"Where do you live?" Bass asked.

"Fayetteville," Jason said.

Bass let a cynical laugh cut through his glare. Fayetteville, Fayette-nam as it was known to some, was an hour away from Wilmington. Home to a large Army base, Fayetteville was dotted with the pawn shops, apartments, and bars that characterized a town with a young, transient population. It was conservative in feel and swift to deal out justice, both civilian and military, for the bar fights, hot rodding, and other petty crimes that too easily accompanied a large population of men far from home for the first time.

Bass said, "Your profile said you're a student. I'm guessing you're really in the Army and the closet."

Jason finally flinched. "I'm not out at work. I don't need the hassle." He took a breath, forced his shoulders to relax, and found his smile again as he sat down across the small cafe table from Bass. "And yeah, I'm a soldier, but I'm a student too. As long as I don't get pulled for deployment, I'll be a civilian with a BS in a eight months."

"Only one term?"

"Yeah. You went career, right?"

Bass nodded but didn't speak.

Jason continued. "I joined to get out of Pennsylvania. My parents had plans for me. They didn't ask what I wanted."

"So you snuck off and joined the Army?"

"They had a table for the recruiters in the lobby of my high school. Usually it was this real Hooah guy, ya know? Sometimes they sent a hot girl. Once they sent someone more like me. He said I could be a cop in four months if I joined."

"I know the recruiting techniques." Bass nodded, letting himself relax some. They'd have enough common ground to keep the conversation going at least as long as a cup of coffee lasted. He'd joined straight out of high school himself. "And you said that word wrong. It's not Hooah. It's Oorah!" Bass gave a deep rendering of the Marine cry. He again drew stares from the couple at the next table, but he also startled Jason. Bass smiled as the younger man jumped.

"Marines," Jason said with a shake of his head.

"Twenty years," Bass answered. The battle cry had reverberated through his body, reminding him who he was. The kid had a high school education and less than four years in the Army under his belt. Bass had a full career and a PhD. This night was his to run if he wanted to. He willed his pulse rate to settle and breathed into the moment.

"That's a long time," Jason said. "What was your MOS?"

"I had two. I was working in Logistics and Strategic Planning at the end."

"What were you doing before?" Jason asked.

Bass flashed a smile full of secrets, locked eyes with Jason, and held his gaze until neither of them was still thinking about work. The younger man bit his lip and blushed before looking away. "I'm going to get a drink," he said as he stood up. Before walking to the bar, he leaned over and whispered in Bass' ear, "That's not an official MOS."

Bass' stomach fluttered as he felt Jason's knee brush his again. They'd been talking for almost two hours, the coffee abandoned after the first mugs for whiskey. Jason had refilled their water glasses a few times while Bass returned with more liquor every time he went to the bar. It was a delicate balance, the line between relaxed and drunk, and Bass was trying to dance on it while taking frequent comforting sips from whatever was in front of him.

Jason quirked a half-smile as Bass abandoned mid-sentence the story he'd been telling. Jason watched the shadows fall as Bass' mood shifted again. Jason had already learned to focus on recent, local events and the desk jockey portion of Bass' Marine career. They didn't bring out Bass' best smiles, but the grins that made it to his eyes were inevitably followed by a mercurial shift in his mood.

Bass reminded Jason of the collection of colored sea glass his mother kept in a vase in the dining room window. It could be appreciated from a distance, but you had to be willing to dig in and be cut if you wanted to see the most beautiful pieces. The brittle edges of Bass psyche held Jason's attention at least as strongly as the tousled sandy curls and perfectly proportioned face. He let his eyes linger on Bass' lips before reaching across the table to run his thumb over the back of Bass' hand. "Are you ready to get out of here?" Jason asked.

Bass stopped breathing. Was he ready to get out of here? His dick and his brain reached markedly different conclusions as he studied the smooth, young skin and angular jaw across the table. Jason's tight black t-shirt was cut in a deep V, similar to Bass' own but different from the loose, unbuttoned henleys that Miles preferred. Jason's short sleeves emphasized his well developed arms while Miles had prefered long sleeves, his sinewy muscles always obscured by excessive fabric or a jacket. While Miles was a plotter, Jason seemed content to ride with the flow of events and grab opportunities as they floated by. He wasn't just the first page of a new chapter in Bass' life, he was the change from a book to reading message boards on his phone. Bass loved his phone.

Bass grabbed his coat. "Let's go."

Jason smiled and followed suit, sliding his arms into his own heavy, black jacket as he stood up. "Where to?"

Leading the way out the door and facing away from Jason, Bass asked, "Do you like baseball?" He pinched his eyes closed and huffed a disgusted sigh as the words left his mouth. His brain had won this round.

"Uh, sure?" Jason said, his tone conveying that he was anything but sure.

"We should be able to catch the last inning of the Seahawks game," Bass said. He made rapid progress across the street and along the edge of campus. He knew the way well. His own house was only a few blocks past the ball field.

"The Seahawks?"

"The university baseball team. We can just walk over."

When they reached a patch of semi-darkness between the streetlamps, Jason grabbed his hand and stopped Bass' forward charge. "You really want to watch baseball now?"

Bass' dick screamed at him as it strained against the fashionable skinny jeans that had seemed like a good idea when he'd bought them earlier in the evening. The ache in his balls echoed the sentiment. No, he did not want to watch baseball.

Jason moved to stand in front of him and asked softly, "What's the part I don't know? You can tell me."

Bass stated coldly, "Everything is fine."

Jason dropped Bass' hand and heaved a frustrated sigh. "Look, if you won't be straight with me, then let me tell you how it is for me. I get out of town one weekend a month. I'm going to be working from 8AM tomorrow until I head back home on Sunday. That means I need to cram a month's worth of living into tonight and hopefully get some sleep so I'm not half-dead tomorrow. It's almost ten, Bass. You're hot and easy to talk to. If I had more time I'd want to see a lot more of you, but I don't have more time. I need to be kissed and touched tonight. If all you want to do is watch baseball, that's really sweet, but it's time for me to go."

Bass looked up at the young man who'd just laid himself bare. He was intrigued by Jason's blend of raw sincerity and transparent bullshit. His arms weren't bad either. "I just got divorced," Bass said.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I make a great grudge fuck."

Bass laughed, taking a beat before finding his answer. "There are a lot of ways to touch without fucking."

"Sold," Jason said. He dove in for a kiss, catching Bass off guard with the eager press of his lips. He kissed like he was starving, desperate to devour everything in his path and struggling to make it last. Bass let his arm rise up to rest on Jason's side, just above his waistband. The tension in his muscles conveyed just how tightly wound the young man was. When he pulled back slightly, as if checking for rejection or approval, Bass heard the stutter in his breath and saw the tremble in his lips.

Bass smiled when he saw the desire in Jason's eyes. How long had it been since someone had looked at him like that? Adoringly, wantonly, openly seeking what he had to offer. Bass said, "I live just south of campus. Do you want to go back and get the cars or walk?"

Jason said, "My mile record is 4:45. I want to beat it." He took off at a dead run, leaving Bass laughing in the shadows at his retreating image.

"You're headed east," Bass called.

Jason turned a quick loop and headed back. He stopped in front of Bass, kissing him and pressing the full length of his body against him, before whispering in his ear, "Run!"

Bass ran.

They lay still and silent for a few minutes, catching their breath and coming back to reality, before Bass broke the silence. "I guess we're into the part of this that you know better than me. How do we end the evening?"

Jason took a deep breath and slid his arms down Bass' back, hugging the man who lay on top of him. "Do you mind if I take a shower before I go?" he asked.

"It's through that door," Bass said, gesturing towards a shadowed corner of the room where a white door stood slightly ajar.

Jason didn't move, instead enjoying the heavy press of the man atop him as they each drew deep breaths and their hands wrote lazy, senseless patterns on each others skin. Finally he asked softly, "Do you want to help me wash up?"

They hadn't managed to get dressed after they'd showered the first time. After the second shower they moved to the kitchen, raiding the fridge and trying to rub the exhaustion from their eyes.

"It's pretty bare," Bass said by way of apology.

"Carrots are food," Jason said.

"Barely."

"It's not from a government can and served to 500 guys at a time. It's perfect," Jason answered. He stood behind Bass, in front of the open refrigerator door as they studied their options, and pressed his chest against Bass' back, skin to skin, Jason's blue jeans against Bass' loose green pajama pants.

Bass' stomach lurched and his confidence dissipated as he accepted what had to be his next move. If Jason rejected him it just meant he was an immature kid into one night stands. It didn't have to mean anything about Bass personally. Bass said, "Maybe next time you're in town I can buy you a decent meal. You said you get leave once a month?"

Jason placed a kiss at the L of Bass' neck and shoulder and slid a hand around his waist. The cool moisture of the open refrigerator blew over his skin, a stark contrast to the heat rising from Bass.

"What are you doing tomorrow night? Well, I guess I mean tonight," Jason stumbled. "Saturday night."

"I thought you were working all weekend," Bass answered.

"Yeah, well, I did some math. The homework is worth ten points and as long as I turn in something I'll probably get five. I'm willing to trade the difference between an A and a B plus for an evening with you."

Bass pulled away and turned to face him. "You're taking a class this weekend?"

"Yeah," Jason answered. "UNC-Wilmington offers condensed classes for soldiers. A month of online work and tests and then fifteen hours of classroom time in one weekend and a final."

"I know the program," Bass answered tensely. He knew it very well in fact. He lacked seniority in the Business Department and he was the only one with military experience; he was often tapped to teach the weekend classes. He was teaching Business Ethics this weekend. "What are you taking?"

"I'm knocking out my philosophy requirement. My last class outside my major." Jason cocked his head to the side, studying Bass. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I teach in the Business Department. Usually Supply Lines, Logistics, and Government Contracting, but I cover some core courses too." Bass' posture relaxed slightly. "If all you have left is Philosophy and Criminal Justice classes I won't ever be your teacher." Bass moved to the cabinet where he kept the whiskey on the far side of the room and poured a drink for himself. He gestured to Jason, silently asking if he wanted one. Jason declined with a shake of his head.

"Even if I'm not your teacher, it would still cause problems if anyone found out."

"So you're saying we'll have to order in this nice meal you've promised me?" Jason said, crossing his arms and leaning against the refrigerator door.

"I'm saying we shouldn't do this," Bass said, closing the cabinet and turning away from him. Jason crossed the room, grabbed him by the waistband of his pants and pulled a barely resistant Bass against him. Jason ran his hands over Bass' back and then softly kissed his lips.

"We already did this," Jason said. "The act has been committed. Future actions must be planned in light of new data but the past exists and cannot be ignored. You can trust me on this one. I'm on track to get a B plus in Philosophy 212."

"Philosophy 212 sounds a lot like Business 238," Bass answered.

"The class is cross-listed."

Bass paled and took a step back. "Who's your teacher?"

"S. Monroe," Jason answered.

"Doctor Sebastian Monroe," Bass said.

Realization dawned slowly on Jason, his eyes growing wide with the news and then relaxing again as he processed it. "Damn," he finally said.

"Yeah," Bass answered. He stalked to his bedroom and grabbed a shirt, pulling it over his head roughly and punching his arms into the sleeves. He moved quickly to the front hallway, bending over to grab Jason's jacket which was still on the floor where he'd dropped it earlier.

"Bass?" Jason called from the kitchen.

"You need to go," Bass answered, shoving his jacket at him. "Dammit. See you in class in six hours."

"Think it through," Jason said. "You're a Marine who specializes in Strategic Planning. There's got to be a way to have it all."

Jason watched the gears turning as Bass decided to tackle the problem. His intensity was mesmerizing. Just as he'd seen Bass flip the switch from uncertain new bachelor to dominant lover earlier, he saw a nervous college professor transform into a confident Marine veteran. The man was at least four boyfriends in one, and Jason had already begun to learn how to summon the one he wanted at any particular time.

"Fuck it," Bass said. "The tests are graded by computer, you get a point per hour for showing up, and the homework is cancelled. Nothing we do or don't do together will alter your grade. Understood?"

Jason nodded.

"Do you still want to see me tonight?"

Jason nodded again.

"Good. Now get out. Try not to be seen. Act normal in class. Be back here at seven tonight."

"Sir, yes, Sir," Jason answered.

Bass grabbed the front of Jason's shirt, drawing him close and extracting a rough kiss before shoving him out the back door. Jason cut into the copse of trees at the back of his property line and out the other side, walking down a parallel street instead of Bass' own on the way back to his car.

Bass rested his head against the glass of the storm door and watched his progress, waiting until Jason was out of sight, obscured by a neighbor's house, before locking up. The entire plan was bad. The best he could hope for was to make the ride worth the crash at the end.

He turned off the lights and went to bed. He had a class to teach in the morning and hopefully another late night after it.


End file.
